


The In Between

by anasticklefics



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anasticklefics/pseuds/anasticklefics
Summary: They meet at the in betweens - between the beginning and the end - and yet Aziraphale refuses to acknowledge what they’ve been through. It hurts Crowley more than he can explain.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The In Between

They met at the start of the world, and they met at the potential end. But during the in between, they did more than meet.

Crowley had accepted that Aziraphale refused to acknowledge the in between when they met again during emergencies, but he remembered. He remembered the walks along the Nile, watching Egypt thrive. Cleopatra’s reign, the fall of the Roman Empire, the Vikings taking over the sea. He was there for all of them, sometimes with Aziraphale at his side, the latter frowning or smiling depending on what part of history they were witnessing.

Crowley remembered the meals shared in small taverns on Greek side streets, both remembering when those lands were a battlefield.

“I talked to Homer once, you know,” Azi had said, his eyes on the cobblestone. “I asked him to write it all down.”

They met on the mountainside in China, took a short trip through Mogadishu, once had lunch in Moscow. On one particularly rough night they stayed at a motel in California, like some sort of cliché. But he remembered the week in Bolivia the most. They truly had had no reason to stay a week. Aziraphale had already purchased his bookstore at that point, and yet they’d stayed, in a small town up north.

Much had been said during that week. Too much, Crowley decided when Azi refused to act on it once they’d left. Maybe he hadn’t understood what Crowley had meant when he’d said that he could spend the rest of eternity by his side and not once be unhappy. Maybe Crowley had been too forward, but come on, they’d known each other at least 5000 years at that point.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” Azi said many years later, the two in Crowley’s car. Maybe that was true, but Satan help him if he had to slow down to Azi’s snail pace anytime soon.

Yeah, he was bitter. Bitter that only he seemed to remember the in between.

Usually, they met in London. On a park bench, having ice cream or coffee or nothing, and then sharing a meal at whatever restaurant Aziraphale led them to. But Crowley’s mind was still in that motel in Bolivia, tucked between the sheets in the dimly lit room with only one bed. Silk pyjamas even in the heat, the TV on way past their bedtime. No reason to stay, finding many reasons to leave, and yet staying anyway.

For years, Crowley would return, without Aziraphale, just to make sure the place had been real. He even shed a tear, when he returned one day to find it gone. Demolished. An earthquake or an accident or a thoroughly thought through decision to let that part of the village go.

He never told Azi about all of this. Had had his heart, or whatever the demon equivalent to it was, broken too many times when Aziraphale pretended not to remember. Made light of the whole thing. He would never understand it.

“I don’t even like you.”

“Way to go, angel,” he’d wanted to say. “You’ve discovered how to kill a demon without holy water.”

And then they’d saved the world, and with Aziraphale’s bookshop burnt to the ground he’d had no choice but to come spend the night at Crowley’s.

“You can have the bed,” he told him. “I’ve passed out on the couch more times than I can count anyway.”

“I can’t possibly kick you out of your own bed, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, appalled.

“And I can’t put a guest with nowhere to go on my shitty couch.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to share the bed then.”

Crowley blinked, once, twice, took off his sunglasses as if he’d hear him more clearly without them. “You want to share a bed?”

Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him. “I see no reason why not.”

“You’ll pretend it didn’t happen tomorrow,” Crowley didn’t say aloud. “You always do.”

Nothing would happen. Nothing happened in Bolivia, apart from words. It was enough for him. Always had been. Aziraphale padded across the room, slid in under the covers beside him, and Crowley felt the sadness engulf him. Aziraphale’s sadness for the bookshop. The inevitable consequences. Their ineffable situations.

Crowley shut his eyes, willing sleep to come quickly. Unable to stand another moment of Azi’s weight beside him without any proper contact. 6000 years of this. 6000 years of Aziraphale pretending they weren’t friends. 6000 years of Crowley pretending he didn’t care after each rebuke.

He cared so much it almost broke him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you grieve for your car,” Aziraphale suddenly said, his voice so low Crowley might’ve imagined it.

He opened his eyes again, turning his head to see the vague outline of his one companion. Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him, as far as he could tell.

“It wasn’t the time,” Crowley replied. “Much more critical matters to take care of.”

“Still. It was unfair of me to dismiss your feelings.”

“Is this about your bookshops?”

Aziraphale exhaled slowly. “I’m being selfish. I only realized your pain once I was going through it myself.” He turned toward him, rolling onto his side so that their faces were almost touching. “I’m gonna go visit it tomorrow. Say a proper goodbye. If you want I can go with you to the Air Force and do the same to your car.”

Crowley didn’t dare move. “I’ve made my peace.”

“You haven’t.”

“Since when are you an expert on my feelings?”

“Can’t you see, you silly demon?” Aziraphale was smiling. Crowley could hear it in his voice. “I always was.”

6000 years for that acknowledgment. 6000 years of stolen in between’s.

Crowley didn’t know what to do with this moment now. He felt damn near close to exploding.

“Can I hold your hand?” Aziraphale finally asked. “Just this once?”

“I’m not letting you hold anything if you’re only gonna do it once,” was Crowley’s reply, and Aziraphale laughed and laughed and clutched at his fingers, the contact so sudden Crowley nearly withdrew.

“So needy.” Azi gave his hand a squeeze. “You were always so needy.”

Crowley had to admit moments like this weren’t anywhere near his area of expertise so, naturally, he panicked; thinking a poke to Azi’s side was the appropriate response.

Oh, but Aziraphale’s response was definitely one for the books.

“6000 years and I find out you’re ticklish _now_.”

“It’s my vessel-”

“Which you’ve had since we first met.”

“Oh, come on now, don’t do anything drastic.”

“When have I ever done anything drastic, angel?”

“Do I really need to answer that- wait!”

Crowley never expected his first proper contact with Aziraphale to be due to a sensitive vessel, but he’d take anything he was given. To hear his laughter wasn’t too shabby either, he had to admit. Sitting up so that he could trap him against the mattress more effectively, Crowley let his fingers spider up Azi’s sides.

He hadn’t tickled many people (or any), but he’d seen it happen on both screens and in front of him, and when he expected Aziraphale to kick out and try to get away, he found him merely squirming. Giggling, yes - which was wonderful, shh - but other than his body’s automatic response he didn’t seem to be suffering too much at Crowley’s hands.

Huh. That was a first.

“Stop it,” he pleaded anyway, gripping one of Crowley’s wrists, but doing nothing to push it off.

“Can’t handle it, angel?”

“Don’t be mean!”

“I’m a demon.”

“You’re a softie- ah, no!”

“That’s for the insult.”

The night turned out to be much easier than they’d expected. A good way to prepare for the hardships of the next day, Crowley decided.


End file.
